


Past The Point of Forgiveness

by Kaspy



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Arthur Whump, Chapter 3: Clemens Point (Red Dead Redemption 2), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, No Slash, Redemption, Whoopsdidntmeanto, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:55:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19033318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaspy/pseuds/Kaspy
Summary: Arthur and Micah rob a homestead and things don't go as planned. Arthur decides he needs to deal with Micah the easiest way possible.





	1. Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's been awhile since I posted last, finals and testing have been consuming me.

 

Arthur never liked Micah, so when the volatile man asked him to help carry out a homestead robbery, he’d been more than reluctant to agree. Still, the camp needed money more than ever, and homesteads often led to lots of it. Arthur was often surprised to find someone’s entire life savings hidden in their chimney, or under their bed. 

So, he agreed to go. The people they were robbing sounded like easy enough targets. A family, living out in the middle of the country, the man of the house away for work. Arthur started to cheer up as they made their way to a good vantage point, leaving their horses not too far off the road. 

“Well, Morgan, now that we’re here..” he said, trailing off as he unholstered his pistol and pulled some gun oil out of his satchel. 

“What the hell are you doing, we don’t have all night-”

“The plan’s changed,” Micah interrupted. 

Arthur wasn’t sure what that meant, but he knew it couldn’t be good. Micah’s plans usually weren’t. “What’s changed, exactly?”

“I say we hold em up, not worry about all the sneaking around. Wastes too much time.” 

_ Great,  _ Arthur thought bitterly, wishing Micah asked anyone else to go with him. But he hadn’t, and now Arthur was stuck dealing with him. He was about to object, to tell Micah what an idiotic plan it was, before the man took off down the hill with his gun cocked at his side. 

“Shit,” Arthur hissed, taking off after him towards the small cabin. 

Micah was already kicking down the front door when Arthur caught up to him, then there was a bang. Arthur shoved past him into the cabin, only to find a man bleeding out on the floor- his wife and child cowering in the corner. “Christ, Micah! What the hell are you thinking?”

“You- you shot my husband!” The woman cried out, pulling her child closer. “He’s gonna die, you sick bastard, he-”  her voice broke off with a choked sob. 

The man on the floor, her husband, started to crawl. “Please, let them go, they didn’t do nothing,” he choked out. Then, in one swift motion, Micah aimed and fired a bullet through his head. 

Arthur started towards him, trying to knock the gun out of his hand- to put an end to his unexpected disaster of a plan, but the woman was faster. She ran forward with a horrible scream, knife in hand. Arthur couldn’t do anything but watch as another shot was fired. Her screaming stopped. 

He knocked the gun out of Micah’s hand a second too late, in too much shock to do anything but look at the scene before him. Arthur couldn’t see anything but the child, horrified and alone. An orphan. Micah caused it all, in a matter of seconds. 

Overcome with disgust, Arthur shoved him towards the door. “You fuckin’  bastard, come on,” he said, dragging the other man by the arm and tossing him out of the cabin. “You sick fucking bastard.” 

“Come on Morgan, what was I supposed to do, let the whore stab me?”  Micah growled defensively. 

Arthur barely held back his anger. “Get out of my sight.”  

“I-”

“I said get out of my sight!” 

Micah didn’t argue any further, stalking back up the hill towards his horse with little remorse. 

The creak of wood behind Arthur drew his attention back to the house. The kid, a boy around Jack’s age, stood in the doorway. “Please, don’t kill me too,”  he whimpered. 

Arthur wasn’t sure what to say. “I won’t, it’s okay- you’re safe,” he stumbled, mentally punching himself for being such a fool.  _ It wasn’t okay- the boy wasn’t safe.  _ He probably never would be, not in the world they were living in. 

The boy was still shaken, looking to Arthur with terror in his eyes. “Wh- what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said grimly. He couldn’t bring the boy back to camp- not with Micah there, and he doubted anyone would take too kindly to another mouth to feed. Still, it was  _ their  _ fault. He blamed himself almost as much as he blamed Micah. 

Then he heard quiet sniffling and saw tears streaming down the boy’s face. He reminded Arthur of someone, but he couldn’t bring himself to think of who that might be. “Don’t cry-  _ please _ , do you know anyone else, anyone that can take care of you?” 

The boy shook his head. 

“Okay, well,” Arthur tried to keep himself together, “I’ll take you into town. You can tell the law what happened, can’t you?” 

“I- I think so,” he sniffled. 

There was a long, drawn out silence as Arthur questioned what he was doing. It was risky, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. The rustling of leaves overhead and the birdsongs echoing through the forest didn’t put him any more at ease. The calm atmosphere made Arthur’s skin crawl, so he whistled for his horse and turned to the kid. “I’m sorry,” he said, even though he knew it wouldn’t fix anything. It was too late for that. 

  
  


~~~~

  
  
  


The sun was high in the sky when Arthur finally rode into camp. He tied his horse up as fast as he could, trying his best not to run into anyone. He wasn’t in a talking mood. Reverend must have not gotten the message.

“Ah, mister Morgan!” 

“Revered,” Arthur acknowledged briskly, hoping to be left alone.

The older man kept talking, “I wanted to thank you for-” he paused, placing his hand firmly on Arthur’s shoulder. “Is something bothering you?”  His breath stunk of whisky as he slurred his words. 

“It ain't no concern of yours,” Arthur snapped, pushing his way past Reverend. He didn’t care what the old man thought. He didn’t want to know what anyone had to think because he’d had  _ enough _ for one day. He just needed to be alone, and he was so close, hurrying towards his tent, only to come face to face with Dutch. 

“Hey, how’d that robbery with Micah go? He came back a while ago, but he didn’t say much.” 

The news made Arthur’s skin crawl.  _ He hadn’t told anyone?  _ “Did he seem upset?”

Dutch chuckled at that. “Oh, just the usual. I don’t think he likes this spot, said he would have preferred that dried up creek bed, can you believe him?” 

_ “No,”  _ Arthur said through gritted teeth. 

Taking the boy to the sheriff’s without drawing suspicion hadn’t been easy, especially in the middle of the night, but Arthur did it. He’d even told the kid to  _ lie _ , he’d told him to lie about who’d killed his parents, and the kid did just that. Arthur made a child lie to save Micah’s sorry ass, and the bastard hadn’t breathed a word about what he’d done. As if it wasn’t important, as if he didn’t ruin the kid’s life. 

Dutch shifted uncomfortably in the silence. “Is everything okay, son?”

“Oh, of  _ course _ . I just need to have a word with Micah. Do you know where I could find him?”

“I saw him on the dock not too long ago. Why, did something go wrong?” 

Arthur didn’t reply, turning around to walk past his tent towards the dock. He didn’t have much of a plan, he just knew he needed to put Micah in his place. 

The other man saw him coming and raised his beer as a greeting.“Hey there cowpoke, did ya deal with the kid?” He asked with a smirk. 

That was enough to drive Arthur into action. He knocked the beer out of his hand and clenched his fist. “Oh, I dealt with the kid. The kid you made an  _ orphan _ .”

“You might want to calm down, Morgan-”

“You don’t tell me to calm down! Not after what you did, you don’t give a shit, do you? Wasn’t even worth mentioning to Dutch!” Arthur shouted, his temper rising. He couldn’t stand it- the way Micah so obviously didn’t  _ care. _

“I didn’t want to put more shit on Dutch, we have more to worry about than that stupid kid.” 

Some of the other gang members were starting to take note of their confrontation, but none of them seemed to think it wise to get involved. Dutch just stood by his tent, arms crossed and eyes locked on them. 

But Arthur wasn’t about to back down.“You’re one to talk. I see you whispering in Dutch’s ear, telling him about your plans, you know, the ones that always fail, the ones that always get somebody killed!”  

You’re making a big deal out of nothing, Morgan! You-” Micah stopped, taking a few steps closer.“I know why you care so much,” he whispered. “It’s cause of that little family of yours, aint it?” 

Arthur took a step back, rage momentarily brought to a halt.  _ Micah knew.  _ He knew about Eliza and Isaac, somebody  _ told  _ him. 

“That kid reminded you of your dead son, didn’t he? That’s why you care so much, well, at least you could save this one. Did that make you feel better?” 

And, just like that, all the resentment and anger Arthur had felt before came crashing back like a wave. He shoved Micah back onto the dock, but he retaliated, swinging back and landed a hit on Arthur’s face.  _ That was it,  _ Arthur thought, he’d had enough- and he knew exactly what he had to do to fix it.   

He aimed his gun and fired.  


	2. Lost

There was a moment of silence in between the gunshot and the inevitable chaos that followed, and Arthur found himself trapped in it.  When he looked down he saw Micah, on the ground, blood oozing out of the fresh hole in his head, then he turned to face the camp and time sped up again. 

Dutch was running towards him, his face unreadable. Hosea, Abigail, Bill, Ms. Grimshaw, and Charles all stood back by Dutch’s tent. 

“Arthur,” Dutch said carefully, slowing his run to a walk. “Put the gun down.”

Arthur hadn’t even realized he was still holding it, so he did as Dutch said, tossing it to the ground. 

“You- you killed him,  _ Arthur. _ Don’t you understand- did you even  _ think? _ ” Dutch’s voice faltered as he spoke. “You know what I have to do!” 

Arthur did, he knew all too well. That’s why he wasn’t surprised when the older man drew his gun and aimed. They had a code, and he’d just broke the first rule. 

Still, he hadn’t expected Dutch to be so willing to stick to that code- with the one breaking it being Arthur. He’d killed Micah, sure, but he couldn’t say he felt guilty. He’d killed so many men before, ones less deserving than the one that lay at his feet. “He got what was coming to him,” Arthur said boldly. 

“If he did something I don’t know about, you could have told me. I would have-”

“What would you have done, Dutch?” Arthur asked, taking a step closer. By then Hosea was walking towards the pair, a few of the onlookers following close behind. 

The older man was losing his patience. “Why’d you kill him, Arthur?”

“He murdered a family- orphaned a boy!”

“We kill people all the time, Arthur! Is that it, is that why you killed one of our own? Do you value those people’s lives more than your own family?” 

Arthur couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but Hosea stepped in before he could say anything, putting himself between Arthur and Dutch. “This isn’t the way to resolve this, Dutch.”

“Then what is? We have the code for a reason, Hosea, just because he- he’s-” Dutch stammered. Then, with his hand shaking, he lowered the gun. “You’re right.” 

Arthur glanced towards the other camp members. All of their eyes were either locked on him, or fixated on the ground. He wondered why they weren’t saying anything, he didn’t  _ like  _ that they weren’t saying anything. It made it so he couldn’t tell what exactly they were thinking. Whether they were disgusted, or sympathized with him. Then again, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Dutch continued; “Get out of here.” 

When Arthur didn’t move he shoved Hosea out of the way and got in the younger man’s face. “Get out of here, Arthur,  _ before I change my mind.” _

“We didn’t used to tolerate killing for no reason, Dutch,” Arthur said quietly.

Dutch lowered his voice to match the younger man’s, “You’re one to talk.” 

To that, Arthur had nothing to say. He simply turned his back to the older man and started walking down the shoreline, pushing past Abigail as he went. She shot him a worried glance and grabbed onto the cuff of his sleeves. “What do I tell Jack, what do I tell  _ John?”  _

“Tell them whatever you goddamn please,” Arthur said, pulling away from her grip. He didn’t have the time for goodbyes, not after what he’d just done. He could hear, as soon as he turned his back to leave, everyone exchanging hushed words. Some sounded angry- some plain confused. Whatever they were saying, it wasn’t his problem anymore.  _ It couldn’t be.  _

  
  


_ ~~~~ _

  
  


It was getting dark by the time Arthur started regretting not grabbing any of his things before he’d left. Then again, he wasn’t sure if Dutch would have allowed it. He’d been so willing to shoot him, so willing to end his life over a piece of scum like Micah. The bastard  _ deserved  _ what he got, and Arthur couldn’t afford to think otherwise- not after what it’d cost him. 

He’d gone to his horse and rode out of there as fast as he could, not daring to take even a glance back. All that needed to be behind him because, for all he knew, he’d never see them again. He knew how it went. People got kicked out of the gang before, for smaller things than killing, and they’d never been seen again. Probably cause they knew they’d be shot if anyone did see them. 

For the moment he was trying to forget all that. He’d set up camp not too far from the water, under the cover of trees with what little tools he had. A small fire was going, but it did little to warm him up. The nights weren’t usually so cold. So, he did what he usually did when he needed to escape, he pulled out his journal and began to write. 

_ I messed up, but this time was way worse than any of the others before. This time I  _ _ killed  _ _ someone. That someone being Micah Bell. What a bastard he was. He made a kid an orphan and left without a hint of remorse. When I confronted him about it all he did was brush me off- even had the nerve to bring up Eliza and Isaac. I’d like to have a word with whoever told him about them. So, I shot him. Figured it was the only way to stop him from running his mouth and killing people, but Dutch didn’t see it that way. He almost shot me before Hosea convinced him to let me go. I can’t say I blame him. I did break the RULES, after all. As if rules mean anything with the way we’re living. So now i’m alone. No gang, no nothing. Not a goddamn friend in the world, all because I couldn’t control myself. Wonder what John’s going to think when he gets back to camp. I suspect he’ll like me even  _ _ less  _ _  than he did before.  _

Arthur closed his journal feeling no less conflicted than before. If anything, it made him feel worse. Usually he’d draw some sort of illustration, but he couldn’t bring himself to think of anything other than the crushing loneliness creeping through him. 

It was a strange feeling, one that Arthur never usually felt, not even when he was out of camp for days or even weeks at a time. He’d never feel lonely, but maybe that was because he’d had something to go back to. He had people he trusted who would be waiting for him to come back. 

He shook his head, as if that would make his thoughts disappear, and looked up at the sky. Some stars speckled the darkness, but not nearly as much as there’d been in Horseshoe overlook or Colter. Still, even in their sparseness, they were thoroughly mesmerizing. Arthur found himself wishing he was as far away as they were, in a place where nothing he’d done mattered. Those thoughts guided him into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

  
  


~~~~

  
  


Arthur thought he heard something, something that sounded like an animal- something that sounded  _ big.  _ His eyes flicked open, taking a second to adjust to the early morning sunlight. 

A few feet away from him was a black bear, nose buried in his satchel, no doubt eating the last of his food. The sight sent Arthur scrambling back before he could think and the bear’s head snapped upwards. It met Arthur’s eyes and that’s when he noticed a cub, leaning against the tree to his right. 

Then, before he could grab the pistol at his side, the bear leapt at him- knocking the wind out of him as she pinned him to the ground. He was just starting to gasp for air, to push back, when it raked it’s claws down his side. The searing pain that followed was unbearable. He screamed, kicking his legs, trying with all the strength he had to get away. Still, he was fighting a losing battle. 

As if the horrible feeling of claws was enough, the bear reared its head back before sinking its teeth into Arthur’s shoulder. His horrific screams were cut short by the attack, then he reached his hand out, desperately feeling the ground for his weapon. For a moment, he was sure he was going to die. But then he found it. His hand brushed metal and he grabbed it, aiming as the bear reared back, and unloaded it into the animal’s head. 

The first thing he felt was relief as the bear collapsed by his side, then he looked down at his torso. 

Torn flesh lined his sides, blood oozing out and staining his shirt. All the pain came flooding back in and instant and he cried out, placing his hands over the wounds. It didn’t do anything to help, and soon Arthur’s hands were covered in red. So he pulled his bandanna off his neck, wincing at the way it felt against his raw flesh.  _ “Shit _ ,” he whimpered. “No, no,  _ no-”   _ his breath hitched as he  glanced to his left, meeting the gaze of the bear cub. 

For a moment he was worried it would finish him off too, but it only stared. A sad, long look of defeat- before retreating into the woods. 


	3. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm updating super slow, I'm currently getting ready for an out of state move. Hopefully it won't be as long till the next chapter but no promises!

John could sense tension in the air as he rode into camp. The few people he saw were huddled together sharing hushed words, while everyone else's was evidently hiding in their tents. He knew something was wrong, but even while he hitched his horse, he couldn’t visibly make out anything out of the ordinary. It didn’t look like there’d been a fight, or that they were packing up for another move. Still, he’d been gone for a few days- out hunting. 

John figured he’d ask Arthur what was wrong, but after a few minutes of wandering aimlessly he gave that up, taking a turn towards Dutch’s tent. If anyone knew what was wrong, it would be him. 

The older man looked like he hadn’t slept for awhile, barely glancing John’s way as he approached. 

“Dutch,” John prompted, continuing when there was no reply, “Did something happen while I was away?” 

Dutch met his eyes. “Yes, Arthur, he-” he stopped himself and shifted from one foot to the other. “Micah is dead.” 

John couldn’t say the news upset him. Micah was a skilled gunman, a ruthless asset, but to John, he wasn’t much more than that. In fact, he’d found him lurking around the donation box more than a few times- trying to make moves on Abigail when he thought John wasn’t looking. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Dutch.” 

The older man nodded and took a deep breath. 

“Did something else happen?”

“Arthur shot him.”

John’s head spun.  _ That couldn’t be right _ , he thought, Arthur wasn’t one to kill in cold blood. But maybe he hadn’t. Of course he hadn’t, there had to be a reason. John spun around, scanning the camp for any sign of Arthur. When he didn’t see anything his heart dropped. Then he remembered  _ the rules. _ He turned back to Dutch, hands clenched into fists. “You- you didn’t-”

“I didn’t kill him!”

“Then where the hell is he? For Christs sake, what happened?” 

Dutch motioned for John to follow him inside his tent, no doubt worried that the outburst would attract attention. Once they were both inside, he spoke, “All I know is that he and Micah were arguing about a job they worked together. Arthur was yelling about a kid- how it was all Micah’s fault that the whole thing went sideways. Micah punched him, then…” he trailed off, but it didn’t take much imagination to figure out what happened next. “I told him to leave.”

“Did you at least try to talk to him? Sounds like more than just-”

“I don’t need you undermining my decisions, John,  _ not now! _ Not when I have people scared out of their minds about the pinkertons finding us- not when we just lost one of the best men we had,” Dutch spat.

John took a step back. He knew Dutch wasn’t talking about Arthur, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe Micah had meant that much to him. He’d only be running with them for a few months, getting them into more trouble than not. It didn’t make sense- none of it had recently. For a moment, John swore he would lose it, but then he saw Abigail. The look she gave him was enough to make his anger turn to worry. 

“John,” she said, running to wrap her arms around him. “Did you hear-?”

“Yeah, Dutch told me.” 

Abigail pulled away, placing her hands on John’s shoulders. “Are you okay? I mean...” she trailed off when she caught sight of Dutch eyeing them. John answered her anyway.

“No, I’m not. And you know what I think, Dutch?” 

“What,  _ John?” _

“You’re losing your grip.”

Dutch balled his fists together and scowled. “Take a look in the mirror. You’re lucky I let you come back after all that time you were gone, don’t make me regret it.”

John knew that saying more wouldn’t solve anything, so he turned his back to the older man and gazed into Abigails eyes. “I’ll be back.” 

She seemed to understand, letting John walk past her towards his horse. 

  
  


~~~~

  
  


The sun was high in the sky by the time John found a trace of Arthur. His bandanna had been laying on the shore, about two miles from camp. It gave John a sense of hope. If he could find Arthur, if he could figure out what happened, maybe Dutch would see reason. Things could be alright. 

He followed what looked to be footprints into the trees and caught a glimpse of something moving ahead. He drew his gun and hid behind a tree, only peering out when he heard the crunching of leaves stop. It was Arthur’s horse. John was immediately relieved, maybe Arthur was close by. He  _ had  _ to be, that horse never strayed far from him.

“C’mere boy,” John encouraged, clicking his tongue. The Gelding kicked its hoof into the dirt and eyed John inquisitively. “Where’s Arthur gone?” John asked aloud, scanning his surroundings for anything out of the ordinary. Then he saw it, a small haze of smoke drifting through the nearby trees. 

He moved towards the small camp cautiously, his breath hitching when he got a clear look at it. Blood stained the ground and contents from a satchel were scattered in the dust. Then his eyes caught sight of a figure laying limp, partially concealed by bushes. He recognized the man immediately. It was Arthur. 

Panic swept through him as he leapt forward, taking hold of Arthur and carefully dragging him into the clearing. For a moment John thought he was dead, if the way his head fell limply to the side and his blood-soaked shirt were any indication, but then his eyes fluttered open. 

Arthur pulled away, scrambling with what little strength he had. “Arthur,” John said softly, holding his hands up, “it’s me, it’s John.” 

The older man squinted for a moment before collapsing back onto the dirt. John rushed to his side and propped him up once more. “Are- are you okay?”

Arthur groaned. “Does it look like I'm  _ okay _ to you?” 

Right,  _ dumb question.  _ “What did this to you- what can I do?” 

“It was a bear! I don’t know what the hell-” his words were broken off by a coughing fit. “Thing clawed my sides and bit my fuckin’ shoulder.” 

John could tell Arthur was holding back tears with the way his voice quivered. It reminded him too much of himself after he’d been attacked by those wolves. Arthur helped him then, it was time he repaid the favor. 

“Alright, just lay still,” John said, placing Arthur down gently and pulled out his knife. It wouldn’t be as effective as he’d like, but there wasn’t any other option. He stuck the blade into the dwindling fire and waited. Arthur side-eyed him anxiously. “I’m sorry, don’t have anything to stitch you up.”

“Maybe you should just let me die.” 

“Shut up,” John said quickly, raising the knife from the flames, “don’t be stupid.”

Arthur kept running his mouth. “Why’re you even here? I thought Dutch would’ve told you.”

“He did. You think that changes anything?” John asked, ripping Arthur’s shirt to reveal deep, bloody gashes running down his sides. 

“It changed things for Dutch.” 

John wasn’t sure where it came from, but he was suddenly enveloped in rage.“Fuck Dutch!” 

Arthur quit his talking, leaving the younger man to see to his wounds. John’s hands shook as he lowered the knife to Arthur’s skin, pressing it down as firmly as he could. 

The older man grit his teeth and jolted his head back, but didn’t make a sound. So John continued down the wound, stopping only to heat the knife up. He moved to his shoulder once he was done with his sides, trying not to gag at the smell of burning skin. “You know, Dutch has to get over this. There’s no way he can-”

“I don’t think he will,” Arthur said firmly. 

The two sat in silence for a while after that. The truth was, John had no idea what Dutch would do- if he would ever forgive Arthur. He only knew that that’s what he wanted him to do. But wanting something wouldn’t make it happen, John knew that all too well. “There has to be something, some way to make Dutch see reason.”

Arthur chuckled. “I’m surprised you want me back so bad.” 

“Why wouldn’t I? Come on Arthur, I know we don’t always see things the same way, but we’re brothers.” 

Arthur smiled briefly, dissipating when his eyes met John’s. “You want to know what Micah said to me before I killed him?”

“What?”

“He thought the kid he killed reminded me of Isaac.”

John wasn’t sure what to say, but Arthur continued before he could think of anything.

“He was  _ wrong. _ The kid reminded me of you.” 


	4. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go! I'm spending most of my summer with Arwriter, so they'll probably motivate me to write more. The next chapter should be up soonish.

  
  
  


Arthur had been happy to see John, even in his confused state, even though he was barely clinging to life. It gave him the hope that maybe not everyone had given up on him. 

That happiness didn’t last long. Arthur couldn’t help but cry when the younger man pressed his burning knife against his wounds, feeling pathetic for it. How many bullets had he taken without shedding a tear, only to then lose his grip. In front of John, of all people. 

After he’d stopped bleeding, Arthur told him everything. About the robbery, about Micah, about  _ the kid.  _  John stayed quiet through it all, only speaking his mind when Arthur finished. 

“I would’ve killed the bastard too.” 

Arthur had to suppress a laugh, and John smiled. “I’m tellin the truth, that bastard had it coming, I don’t blame you for doing what you did.”

“Dutch doesn’t see it so plainly.” 

They both knew it wouldn’t be easy. They both knew too well that, when Dutch made up his mind, he didn’t often change it. Arthur wasn’t clinging to much hope that his situation would be any different. Sure, the relationship they had was like father and son, but that didn’t seem to mean much anymore. 

“I could talk to Hosea,” John said quickly. “If anyone could change that old bastard’s mind, it’d be him.” 

Arthur sighed. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea, wasn’t sure he’d want to go back if the only one welcoming him was Hosea. “You should head back to camp, the sun is getting low.” 

“But-”

“Go. We can talk about this another day, I need time to think things over.”

John shot Arthur a defiant look before standing up, brushing the dust off his pants. “I’ll be back tomorrow, try not to get killed.”

“No promises.” 

Arthur smiled and turned away. “I’ll see you later.”

John didn’t say anything, lifting himself onto Old Boy and riding off through the trees. It was a relief to have him gone, despite how much Arthur enjoyed his company. He didn’t like seeing the younger man so worried about him. It was uncharacteristic, and besides all that, Arthur didn’t deserve his sympathy. 

  
  


~~~~

  
  


Hosea paced camp, rummaging through crates and sacks. “Where’s the damn  _ whisky? _ ” He hissed under his breath. It’d been almost two days since Dutch kicked Arthur out of camp, and he’d been clinging to a bottle ever since. It wasn’t something he usually did, in fact, he hadn’t been drinking on a regular basis for years. Of course it would be Dutch that drove him back to it. The younger man was more stubborn than ever, refusing to hear what Hosea, or anyone else, had to say regarding the situation. He was beyond reasoning with and Hosea didn't know what to do about it, besides drink. Well, he had been drinking- but it seemed supplies were running low. 

“Just  _ what _ do you think you’re doing?”  A familiar voice boomed behind him. Hosea turned, coming face to face with Dutch. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You know damn well what’s gotten into me!”

Dutch’s anger was visibly bubbling to the surface as he took a step closer. “I did what I had to do, he broke the rules-”

“He’s our  _ son! _ The rules don’t matter, not when it comes to Arthur.” 

“I can’t show favoritism, Hosea, you know that. You know that I have to keep all these people together- I have to have a  _ plan,  _ I have to do what needs to be done!” 

Hosea gritted his teeth and took a drunken swing, but Dutch caught his fist and pushed the older man back, his expression turned sorrowful. “I don’t need this right now, Hosea! Go get yourself together, please.”

Hosea was just about to retaliate once more when he caught sight of John riding into camp. “Hosea!” the younger man called out, swinging his legs onto the ground. “I need to talk to you, I-” he stopped when he saw Dutch, giving the two men a wary look. Hosea didn’t let himsay any more, shoving Dutch to the side and storming past John towards Silver Dollar. He needed space to clear his head,  _ he needed a drink.  _

So he rode, for what seemed like hours, to Rhodes. A dusty little town that Hosea didn’t like very much. Never had, not even when him and Bessie had visited all those years prior. He could see the saloon up ahead, deciding to tie up Silver Dollar a good distance away. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be heading back to camp till the following morning, or later.

  
  


~~~~

  
  


The bartender shook his head when Hosea held out a wobbling hand to drop another dime on the counter. “Slow it down there, old man. Too much more and I’m afraid you’ll drop dead.”

Hosea would’ve usually brushed a comment like that off, but he’d been drinking far too much have any sort of restraint. “Fuck you, give me another- before I make you.”  

“You?” The bartender laughed. “You can’t make me do anything, get out.” 

Hosea blinked slowly as the bartender pointed to the door, continuing; “You heard me, get the hell out of my bar before you drink yourself into the ground.”

He didn’t need any more convincing, pushing back from the counter dramatically, Hosea stormed towards the saloon doors. He swore he heard people laughing at him as he went, but he ignored them. He was used to it by now, people looking down on him. They all thought he was weak, useless, even Dutch didn’t trust him enough to do most jobs. He was old news. 

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a hand covering his mouth with a cloth and pulling him out of the street and into the alleyway. He didn’t struggle, feeling the cool edge of a blade greet his throat. 

“Don’t do anything stupid.” A gruff voice whispered behind him. “I know one of Dutch’s bitches when I see one.” 

That was enough to sober him up. An  _ O’driscoll, _ this far south? He never would have imagined Colm’s reach went so far. Still, there was no mistaking that thick Irish accent. 

“You better do as I say,” the O’driscoll warned, pushing the knife closer against Hosea’s neck.  _ “Colm’s got a plan for you,”  _ he said slowly, the last thing Hosea heard before he felt his legs give way beneath him. 

  
  


~~~~

  
  


The only thing Dutch knew for certain was that things would never be the same. Of course, that’s how things often went with the life he lived, but this time it was different. This time he’d turned Arthur, the man he’d raised as his son, away. Everyone was acting like they would have made a different choice if they were in his shoes, and maybe they would have, but he’d done what was right. He knew that. Still, there was that voice within him, they one that told him he was  _ wrong.  _ Micah may have been ruthless, but he didn’t deserve what Arthur had done to him. 

“Oh my god!”  Mrs Grimshaw called out, breaking Dutch away from his doubts. “Is that- Hosea’s horse?” 

“What?” Dutch asked hazily, turning towards the road that led into camp. Sure enough, there was Silver Dollar, Hosea nowhere to be seen. The older man had gone out the night before. Now he wasn’t sure what to think, rushing towards the horse and scanning the saddle for any sign of Hosea. Then he saw the note tied around the horn and his heart sunk in his chest.  _ “Hosea?” _ Dutch said softly, reaching out to grab the note. 

Most of the people in the camp were watching with anxious uncertainty as he unfolded the paper and held it, hands shaking. 

  
  


_ Dutch,  _

 

_ This whole feud is awful silly, aint it? My men are getting their blood spilled over your insistence to never let anything go. So I think it's only fair I get even with you, unless you have something to compensate me, that is. Matthews says hi.  _

 

_ -Colm  _

 


	5. Searching

Arthur couldn’t believe what he was hearing, it was all too much,  it wasn’t true. But John looked sure, more sure than he was of most things.

“He’s gone.”

Arthur shook his head. “You sure it was Colm? Could be the pinkertons-”

“It was Colm, Dutch knows it was,” John said. He looked tired, but that didn’t surprise Arthur. He had a feeling neither of them had been sleeping well lately.  _ And now Hosea was gone. _ Arthur knew what needed to be done, he just wasn’t sure if Dutch would do it.

“Has Dutch done anything about it?”

John’s gaze dropped to the floor. “He says he needs more time, we don’t even know where Colm is.”

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Arthur spat. “Nobody knows Colm like Dutch. He  _ knows,  _ he's just worried about it being a trap.” 

Leaves rustled eerily above their heads as the two men exchanged unsure looks. Arthur gritted his teeth, left with no other option than to take things into his own hands. Dutch was losing his grip, he’d known that for quite some time- but to waste so much time waiting to rescue Hosea, to let him suffer at Colm’s hands, that was unforgivable **.**

“I know that look,” John said. “You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you?”  
“I’m going to have a word with Dutch.” 

John took a deep sigh and crossed his arms. He was right, it was stupid, but sometimes stupid was right. Dutch needed to be put in his place. So arthur walked to the horses, beckoning John to join. “Come on, I can’t do this alone. Maybe the two of us can spur him into action.” 

John chuckled. “Can’t hurt to try, can it?” 

“Oh, I’m sure it can.”

The pair appeared anxiously hopeful as they rode off towards camp, but Arthur knew whatever laid ahead wouldn't be easy. Not for him, not for Dutch, not for anybody.

  
  


~~~~

  
  


Arthur tried to steady his breathing as him and John drew closer, but wounds on his sides refused to give him a moment's peace. They kept stinging, kept burning every time his clothes shifted over them. It was nearly unbearable, but he managed to hold himself  together, deciding against complaining to John. 

“Are you ready?” The younger man asked, coming to a stop on the trail ahead. Arthur hesitated a moment before replying with a firm nod and leading the way forward. 

Camp stirred with more activity than either of the men had seen in awhile. Mrs. Grimshaw was complaining about something to the girls, Abigail held Jack firmly at her side, and Dutch paced frantically- exchanging harsh words with Javier. It all stopped when they saw John and Arthur.

Abigail looked more scared than startled. “John- Arthur, you shouldn’t-” 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Dutch boomed, turning away from Javier. Arthur’s feet hit the ground with a thud as he tossed his horse’s reins around a nearby post. Dutch started walking forward, hands clenched into fist. “You think you can come back here after what you did?” 

“I’m here about Hosea.” 

Arthur’s words only appeared to make Dutch angrier, and soon the two men were face to face. “Did  _ John _ tell you? What exactly did he say?” 

“Don’t think any of that is relevant,” Arthur spoke quietly, “I just think it’s odd you haven’t gone to get him back yet.” 

Dutch threw his hands in the air, backing up to meet eyes with the other gang members. “I’m doing everything I can! Do you really think I’d leave him,  _ on purpose?  _ I’m trying so damn hard and you ain't been making it any easier, going and killing one of the most vital men we had!” 

“If you were trying to save him, you would’ve gone already, he’d be  _ here!”  _ Arthur shouted back, resentment bubbling to the surface. He could tell his words stung when Dutch’s expression turned from one of anger, to one of hurt. 

“Do you really think so little of me?” 

Arthur stood his ground. “Yes.” 

The older man frowned. “Get out.” 

“I can help you find him-”

“Get  _ out _ .” Dutch spat once more, pushing Arthur back, but Arthur didn’t move.

_ “You’re a coward.”  _

Then, before Arthur could do anything to stop him, Dutch raised a hand and swung- hitting the younger man with an open palm. 

Arthur found himself hunched over, hand grasping at his stinging jaw. Dutch had never hit him before, but he almost expected to be hit again- old memories that he’d rather forget swirling at the edges of his mind. 

When he looked back to Dutch the older man’s eyes were wide with shock, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. He reached out, but quickly pulled his hand back when Arthur flinched away. “I- I'm sorry.”  

Arthur didn’t want to hear it. Without looking Dutch in the eye he turned back towards the horses. 

“Wait!” John piped up, but Arthur ignored him. He should have known Dutch wouldn’t hear reason,  _ but had Arthur been reasonable? _ He decided it didn’t matter. What was done was done, and Hosea needed saving. 

  
  


~~~~

  
  


Burning, that’s all Arthur felt as he pushed his horse onwards. His sides weren’t healing fast enough, and neither was his shoulder. “Damn  _ bear.” _ He huffed under his breath. 

John told him where he thought Hosea would’ve been seen last, the Rhodes saloon. Arthur found that odd, Hosea wasn’t much of a drinker- hadn’t been for years. Maybe all the stress was finally getting to him. Whatever the case, he needed to ask around to see if anyone saw anything, and he needed to do it fast. 

A few drunken stragglers stood outside the bar, Arthur doubted they knew anything, but he needed to be sure. 

“Gentlemen,” he called out, reluctant to get off his horse. “I’m looking for someone- a man.”

“Oh, I bet you are.” One of the men slurred drunkenly. “Tons of em’ round’ here.” 

Arthur suppressed his annoyance. “Someone specific, he might’ve been here last night, goin’ by Melvin.” 

Arthur didn’t like how long it took them to think about it. 

“We aint seen no man like that, Mister. Maybe my friend down there did,” one of the men spoke up, gesturing down the alleyway. Arthur was smart enough to know that he was being set up, but, in his mind, that was a good sign. It meant that they were hiding something, that they might have known where Hosea was. 

So Arthur nodded naively, getting off of his horse and checking to see that his weapons were at his side. “What’s your friend’s name?”  Arthur prodded as the stranger led the way. 

“Ah, Billy. He ain't that smart- but I’m sure he’s seen your man.” Just as he was done speaking, Arthur heard the cocking of a gun behind him. He thought on his feet, rushing forward to grab the man ahead of him, bringing his own gun to the thief’s head. When he turned he found a shotgun trained at himself, so he held his captive closer. 

“Drop your gun or I’ll shoot him,” Arthur hissed. The man behind the shotgun quickly complied, and that’s when Arthur realized how young he was, and how  _ scared _ he looked. 

“Please don’t shoot him- he’s my pa. He’s all I have, sir-” 

“Shut up,” Arthur commanded, pushing his gun closer to his captive’s temple. “You know Colm?” 

The kid’s eyes flickered with even more fear than before, but Arthur wasn’t going to take silence for an answer. “You heard me! Do you know Colm O’driscoll?”  

“Yes! We know him okay? Now let my pa-”

“Do you know where he’s hiding?” 

The man in Arthur’s grasp squirmed defiantly. “Don’t tell him, Billy. You know what Colm will do!” 

“Remember what  _ I’ll  _ do, boy,” Arthur warned. He hoped his threatening tone was convincing enough, the last thing he wanted to do was destroy another family. 

“He’s down by the Bayou, Lakay, I think. That was the last I heard, Mister, I swear.”

Arthur, satisfied by the information, leaned to whisper in the older man’s ear. “You and your boy will leave when I let you go, unless you want a bullet in your head.” 

Arthur threw him to the ground and The man did as he was told, scrambling to his feet and grabbing the boy by the arm. 

“You boys didn’t see me here!” Arthur called out after them, hating the way his words made them run faster. 


	6. Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This summer's been more busy than I'd expected, but don't worry, I'll finish this thing!

 

The O’Driscoll camp was well guarded, that much was clear. Consisting of a few scattered cabins, with tents posted in between, there was no telling where they were keeping Hosea- if he was even there. Arthur had no way of knowing for sure, and the only way to find out was to wait. He wasn’t too keen on that. 

“Arthur,” a voice whispered behind him. Arthur spun around, hastily reaching for his pistol and taking aim, only to find John staring down the barrel. 

“Jesus, calm down!” he hissed, throwing his hands up defensively. 

Arthur lowered his gun. “ _ Calm? _ What the hell were you thinking! Sneaking up on me while I- wait, why the hell are you here?” 

John shifted sheepishly. 

“You followed me, didn’t you?” Arthur snapped, sounding more hostile than he’d intended.

“What was I supposed to do, let you get yourself killed?” 

Arthur glanced down at the camp, then back to John. He guessed having an extra man on his side wouldn’t hurt, especially with his recent injuries. What he really needed was the whole gang backing him. They should’ve all been there- ready to rescue Hosea, even if it meant losing their own lives. But Dutch was a  _ coward _ . At least there was one man with some sense in him, and if that man was John Marston, then so be it. 

“Do you have a plan?” the younger man asked, taking a good look at the camp for himself. 

Arthur didn’t,  _ exactly.  _ He figured he’d sneak his way in and try his luck with the cabins, but that was looking less and less appealing the more he thought about it. 

“We should flush them out.” 

John didn’t look very enthused. “How, exactly?” 

“See those horses over there?” Arthur said, gesturing towards the animals. They were slightly separated from the camp, far enough away for someone to get to them without anyone seeing. “I say one of us sets em loose.” 

“I’ll do it,” John offered, faster than Arthur was expecting. He looked like he was ready for anything, ready to take on some O’Driscolls. 

“We can’t go rushing in there swinging our guns around. You gotta be careful, try and lead them away. Just distract as many as you can, okay?” 

John nodded, eyes narrowing as he mapped out his route towards the horses. Arthur hoped he could keep his cool, if they did this right, nobody had to die. He was smarter than to think that would be the case, of course. Someone always died. 

“I’m going in,” the younger man said, starting forward through the trees. 

Arthur watched with anticipation. He wondered what Hosea would say when he saw who’d come to rescue him, if he’d be dissapointed. The older man had always been reasonable, more reasonable than Dutch, but Arthur wasn’t sure where he stood when it came to the whole Micah mess. He’d be right to be dissapointed. 

There was a sudden crash by where the horses were posted, most of them taking off towards the trees on the opposite side of camp. 

“Shit, the horses!” he heard one of the O’Driscoll’s call out. Others came running out of tents and Cabins, all scrambling to get ahold of their mounts before they got too far. Arthur took the opportunity to make his move towards the camp. 

Hosea would most likely be kept in one of the cabins, so that’s where Arthur looked first. Moving as quietly as he could, he made his way to the cabin on the edge of camp closest to himself. 

  
  


~~~~

  
  


Hosea was sure he was going to die. With every passing second he felt farther from reality, the sound of his own blood dripping onto the stones beneath his feet lulling him into the dark. It was only moments away, he could feel himself slipping away-

But then he heard the creak of cellar doors opening, and suddenly he was wide awake. Colm walked deliberately slow down the staircase, the edges of his mouth lifting into a twisted smile when his eyes met Hosea’s. 

“Not looking so great, are you? I hope you’re not giving up on me just yet.” 

Hosea refused to speak, shifting against the chains binding his hands to the wall. He was done playing Colm’s games. At first he’d protested, gone on about how Dutch would save him, how Colm would be sorry. But the longer he stood there, slowly losing blood to the wounds on his arms and chest, the more he convinced himself that no one was coming. 

“Don’t look so sad, Matthews. I’m sure your  _ friends  _ will be here soon enough. I’m a tough man to find, after all, they could be having some trouble,” Colm said slyly. “Micah should help  _ direct  _ them.” 

Hosea froze up at the mention of Micah’s name. “What do you mean, Micah- he’s dead.”

Colm’s giddy exterior melted away. “He’s  _ what?”  _

“He got killed in a dispute, someone in the gang was-” 

“Oh, he got himself caught, didn’t he? Should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut.” 

What Colm was saying didn’t make much sense to Hosea, he almost blamed it on his delirious state, but then it hit him. “Are- are you saying that Micah was working with  _ you?”  _

“Now you’ve gotta be fucking with me,” Colm shouted, slamming his hand against a table, the only thing decorating the sparse cellar. “You’re telling me you don’t know? So, what, someone shoot him over nothing?” 

Hosea’s head spun with more questions than he could count, all with no answer. The only thing he knew for sure was that Arthur had done them a favor, if what Colm was saying was true- Dutch was a fool. They all were. 

“Say something, Matthews, I’m bored!” Colm exclaimed, shoving Hosea forcefully against the wall. The older man couldn’t suppress the strangled cry that escaped his throat. Then he felt the cold sting of metal against his side and Colm leaned in closer. 

“Don’t be scared, I’m sure your good pal Dutch will be here soon.” 

  
  


~~~~

  
  


Three cabins. Arthur progressed his way through three cabins, coming up with nothing more than cigarettes and gin. There was no trace of Hosea, and he was running out of time. The camp wouldn’t be empty for much longer. 

So he crept towards the last cabin, keeping an eye out for any movement in the surrounding trees. He put an ear against the door before opening it, hearing unusually distant sounding voices inside.  

Deciding whoever was inside wasn’t in the main room, he opened the door slowly, letting out a relieved breath when he saw that he was right. Nobody was in the main room, but they had been recently. A burning fireplace heated the room and there was food out on the dining table. If Arthur didn’t have such time constraints, he would have gladly taken a spoonful of whatever it was. 

There was only one door in the cabin, and Arthur determined the noise was coming from there. He crept closer and kept quiet. If he was lucky there would only be one or two people waiting on the other side. Leaning towards the door, he heard a single word.

_ “-Matthews.”  _

It sent him springing into action, kicking the door in with as much force as he could- his side stinging in response. While he was expecting another room, Arthur found himself staring down a flight of stairs, nearly falling down it with the momentum he carried. 

“What the fuck!” A familiar, yet distant voice shouted from below. Footsteps followed close behind. 

Arthur drew his gun before he ever saw his target, firing at the other man as he appeared at the bottom of the stairwell. It was only when he reached the cellar that he saw who he’d shot.  _ Colm.  _

He was laying still, blood pooling on the floor from the hole in his side. Then he saw Hosea. 

“A- Arthur?” the older man sputtered. His hands were chained to the wall, blood staining his clothes. He’d lost  _ a lot.  _

“It’s me,” Arthur said, catching sight of a key on a table. He grabbed it, working as quickly as he could to release Hosea from his chains. “You’re going to be okay, I’m getting you out of here.” 

“Where.. where’s Dutch?” 

Arthur couldn’t bring himself to answer, so he said what he thought Hosea wanted to hear. “You’ll see him soon.” 

Hosea’s eyes grew wide, his mouth opening to shout out a half- warning, “Arthur-”

But his warning came too late. 


End file.
